


The morning after

by Servena



Category: Marco Polo (TV)
Genre: Blackouts, Gen, Hangover, Headaches & Migraines, Morning After, Nausea, talk about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 21:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15850149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Servena/pseuds/Servena
Summary: Ahmad woke to the pounding in his skull.





	The morning after

Ahmad woke to the pounding in his skull. For a moment he didn’t move, just breathed as deeply and evenly as possible to keep the rising nausea at bay. He tried to remember where he was or what had happened before he fell asleep, but for now his head was empty of memories of the evening before.

He could feel cool silk and a soft mattress beneath him, so he had to be in a bed, and he could hear the loud snoring of at least one other person. When he finally dared to crack open one eye, the morning light falling through a half-opened window made his head hurt even worse and he groaned. But the room slowly took shape before his eyes until he was sure it was his own, a comforting sight.

But that didn’t yet explain what had happened. Drinking was not uncommon at the court of the Great Khan, and the last time he had felt this bad afterwards surely had to have been several years ago.

It took a lot of effort to sit up without emptying the contents of his stomach on the expensive sheets. When he had finally succeeded, the first thing he did was to reach out to pull the shades down in front of the window, casting the room in a dim light more pleasant to sensitive eyes, before leaning back against the headboard, taking deep breaths, trying to calm head and stomach alike.

Yet the question of his company remained. When he cast his gaze over the bed, he first noticed a concubine sleeping curled up at the bottom of it, only covered by an exclusive shawl. She was just in reach so he could nudge her with his foot.

“Out”, he said as she finally sighed and lifted her head, strands of black hair hanging into her face that had escaped the needles. She just looked at him with blank eyes, still half-caught in sleep. “Out”, he repeated, and she reached to cover her naked form with her dress that had found its way onto the floor, before slipping out of the room without a word.

This did not explain the snoring however. The source of it, and likely also the cause of his current state when he thought about it a bit longer, had spread himself out over the other half of the bed and hogged more than half of the pillows. Ahmad had to push his shoulder three times before he so much as gave a sign of acknowledgement, which came in the form of moaning and pushing his hand away.

“Where am I?” Jingim asked, his voice muffled by the pillows, after Ahmad had nudged him a few more times.

Ahmad sunk back against the headrest. The room was spinning and he hadn’t even tried to get up yet. “In my room.”

Jingim heavily turned to face him. “Why am I in your room? What did we do here?”

“We had fun, apparently.” He felt around in the drawer of the nightstand until he found a ribbon to tame his hair with that was hanging in his face. He tossed a second at Jingim, who made no move to pick it up. “I sent one of the concubines away.”

“Ooooh”, Jingim said slowly. Then, as an afterthought: “Was it the new one? You know, the small one? With the dark hair?”

Dark hair was hardly a distinctive trait among the Khan’s concubines, but he knew who the prince was talking about. After all, he did oversee their choosing together with the empress. “The one.”

“So beautiful”, Jingim mumbled. “And now I don’t even have memories to enjoy!” He sighed. “Do you?”

“No.” And then he added: “You could always ask her. I’m sure she would retell it to your satisfaction.”

Jingim nodded against the pillow. “Maybe I will.”

After a moment of silence, Ahmad asked: “Speaking of more important matters, what did we drink?”

Jingim shuffled into an almost upright position. He had rings under his eyes and strands of his black hair were hanging in his face. “Airag. In honor of cousin Kaidu.”

“Oh god”, Ahmad groaned and let his head sink back, only to wince as it met the wall behind him and reawakened his headache. Airag was hard enough to keep down when you were drinking it, not even considering the morning after. “I know why I don’t drink that sorry excuse for alcohol.” He turned to Jingim. “Why did I drink it?”

Jingim shrugged. “I must have convinced you.”

Ahmad rubbed a hand over his face. Even the thought of that devil’s stuff made everything a thousand times worse. “I hate you.”

“I’m sorry”, Jingim said, actually looking like he meant it.

“Don’t you feel sick?” Ahmad asked incredulously.

“A bit”, Jingim said after a moment of thought. “But it’s not that bad.”

“I hate you even more.”

“I’m sorry”, Jingim repeated, still looking like he meant it.

In this moment there was a knock at the door. They exchanged a questioning glance, but before either of them could say anything, it was opened, a gesture of rudeness that none of the servants would have ever dared. The person that entered was not a servant however, but the empress herself.

“Ahmad, have you seen Jingim, he’s not in his room and –“ It took one look of her at the two of them to come to grasp with the situation. “Oh dear.”

Ahmad sighed. It was going to be a long day.

**Author's Note:**

> I found out later that airag probably doesn't contain enough alcohol to get really drunk, but I decided to leave it in anway...


End file.
